


welcome to lesterville

by ravels (orphan_account)



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: A bunch of ocs - Freeform, Amusement Parks, Ghosts, Horror, M/M, Phandom Big Bang 2017, also phil is a ghost so the major character death isnt like sad, also to my artist, death of old age, it doesn't look like a phanfic until the very end, please bear with me and try to like matt. everything works out in the end, please give lots of love to my beta
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-26
Updated: 2017-11-26
Packaged: 2019-02-07 07:07:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12835902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/ravels
Summary: Once upon a time, there was a filmmaker named Phil Lester. Lester was a creator of some of the most magical and whimsical tales, but he died too soon. Years later, a mother fond of his work made her wide-eyed, rosy-cheeked son a promise: if there were ever to be a theme park dedicated to the late legend, they would go and have the time of their lives. This is the story of that promise.





	welcome to lesterville

**Author's Note:**

> warning for major character death, death of a parent, ghosts, and all around horror.  
> thank you to my beta, [silke](http://falloutboxofchocolates.tumblr.com), and my artist, [alexandra](http://amiteeka.tumblr.com). i couldn't have done this without you guys!!

To call him a normal child would not, by any means, be incorrect. Like many other little boys in his day, he had always had a fondness for amusement parks. Amusement parks and cable television.

The young, rosy-cheeked Dan Howell had wanted those things, and was surprisingly determined to receive them, far more determined than a boy of seven had any right to be. He had begged his mother ad nauseum for a cable television set, one to sit perfectly in that little nook in the living room that seemed intended for such a thing. _Suki has one_ , Dan would plead. _And Greg! Mom, please…_

The living room was cozy, with a couple worn armchairs and an always-open doorway adjoining it with the kitchen. There was a carpet, one that his mother claimed was perfect for lying down on while scribbling with crayons, but of course Dan insisted he had outgrown such childish things. He wanted the cable television set, and he would do whatever whining it took to get it.

His father would sit in his comfortable old armchair and read his paper, looking on with just a hint of a smile. The television was never going to happen, he knew. But Dan didn’t know that.

Every time Dan asked, his mother’s answer was exactly the same, with a smile, a pat on the cheek, and: “Find me a good show other than the old Lester tapes on the good old VCR, and I might just change my mind.”

Lester.

Mrs. Howell _loved_ Philip Lester. The old storyteller and filmmaker was long dead now, having died mysteriously almost eighty years before. His legendary tapes were all that remained of him, and that was enough. It was enough for Dan to be indoctrinated in them for almost his entire life.

For a while, Lester tapes were enough for Dan, but one day he reached a time where he was discontent with all the things that his friends could afford and he _couldn’t_ , but he didn’t understand why he couldn’t, and...

Dan loved his mother, probably because she didn’t tell him the whole story back then.

(Financial troubles are a bit of a heavy topic for a seven-year-old, aren't they?)

Every morning, the young, rosy-cheeked Dan Howell left for his small primary school just outside Wokingham, one with everyone from the lesser rich to the lesser fortunate, all lumped together in one tired brick building. He would hoist his old red bookbag over one shoulder and haul it into the school, but the weight of most of his troubles disappeared when he got to class. Dan liked school; he enjoyed the thrill of being able to understand new things and he liked seeing his friends every day.

Dan had some friends, though they were few in number; a gangly and awkward boy named Eliot, a gentle, quiet boy named Greg, an outgoing, boisterous girl named Suki (that decidedly wasn't his girlfriend, if anyone were to ask). Every day at lunch, they’d sit in a special corner of the rusty old playground, behind an oak tree, avoiding the rest of the crowd. They mostly shared his interests— Eliot’s Pokémon cards, the video games that Greg owned on his DS, and Suki’s various pets. Suki was a fan of hamsters.

Old black-and-white short films, though? As soon as Dan wanted to talk about his Lester tapes, the playground and its swings, slides, and monkey bars seemed much more interesting to Eliot, Suki, and Greg.

One morning, Dan came out to lunch and realized that Greg was gone— _again_. For the third day in a row.

“Hey, Eliot?” Dan asked. “Where's Greg?”

“I dunno, Dan. I think he went to, like, Disneyland or something like that,” Eliot replied, mouth half full of peanut butter and jam sandwich.

“Disneyland?” Dan asked. “Do they have cable televisions there?”

Suki rolled her eyes, tossing blonde hair over her shoulder. “Come _on_ , Dan. You don't mean to tell us you've never heard of _Disneyland_?”

“I dunno, have I?” He retorted, moodily taking a bite of his own sandwich. Dan had heard of it— his father had grumbled about it once.

“I’m sure you have, you just can’t remember,” Eliot said kindly, lightly patting Dan on the back. “Y’know. Disneyland. Where dreams come true? It’s in Paris. A lot of people go there on vacation, but my dad says it’s really expensive. They have, like, cool rides and stuff. Princesses and, like, Star Wars. And televisions.”

Dan blinked. “And Greg is _there_ ? _Now_?”

“Lucky, right?” Suki remarked dreamily.

Dan went back to eating his sandwich.

 

“Dad, can we go to Disneyland?”

James Howell looked up from the newspaper that seemed to have been devouring his attention for the past few days and blinked. “Disneyland, son?”

“Yeah,” Dan replied, the earnest in his voice fading a little. “Eliot and Suki say… Eliot and Suki say it’s brilliant, Dad. They say there’s, like, magic there. And Greg is there right now! Please, Dad?” His eyes widened, just for effect.

James Howell gave a little chuckle, and reached out to ruffle Dan’s stubborn curls. “We’ll see, Dan.” He picked his newspaper back up and continued reading.

“But Daaaad,” the whine crept into his voice, “I wanna _go_.” Dan’s eyes were wide and pleading.

“And we can, son,” his father replied, immune, his attention now devoted to the apparently thrilling newspaper. “We can, as soon as your mother and I can scrounge up the fortune we’d need to even _get_ us there.”

One tear threatening to spill free from his lower eyelid, Dan went into the kitchen to see his mother, cooking something that smelled warm and comforting.

Upon seeing Dan’s trembling lower lip and reddened cheeks, his mother ran from the stove and crouched to his level. “Oh, Dan. What happened?”

“Dad said-d that we c-can’t g-go to Disney-neyland-d,” he mumbled, voice quavering. “Issnot… issnot fair, mum.” With small, tight fists, he scrubbed at his teary eyes, but to no avail, only crying harder. The tears were only a small percentage crocodile; Dan _wanted_ to go to Disneyland. It wasn’t _fair_.

His mother seemed to consider him for a moment, her face lined with a strange, pensive expression.

“Do you want to watch a Lester tape, Dan?” She said, quietly, finally. The omnipresent solution to any problem he might have.

Dan paused, his plump lower lip wobbling. “No, Mum, I want… I wanna go to Disneyland.”

She set her mouth in a firm but gentle line, and, unwittingly, spoke the contract that would someday define her sweet little son’s life, far into a future she'd never see. “I’ll tell you what, Dan, sweetheart. If, at some point, and for some reason, there's a Lester theme park, we’ll go and you and I will have the best time on Earth. I promise.”

Dan’s eyes widened, the fat tears curbing on their banks. “Really, Mum? You promise?”

“I promise.” She smiled warmly, ruffling her son’s brown curls. Dan beamed.

And though it seemed unlikely that it'd ever happen, somehow, fate had a way of making things work out… _unexpectedly_ , to say the least.

  


* * *

  


The nineteen year old, not-so-rosy-cheeked Dan Howell had since lost his innocence, as most nineteen year olds tend to do. He’d straightened his hair and done the same to his life, rigid and all grown up. He longed no more for a cable television set, simply because he now knows of better things in the world.

He'd gained an appreciation for good music, good film, good books. He had gained a friend or two, now that the days of Eliot and Greg in primary school, and of his adolescent crush-turned-ill-fated-relationship on Suki, were so far behind him. He had left behind his least favorite bullies throughout his schooling career (all forty-one of them; he had made a list). He had gained a good life in a good position, packing his bags and attending a rather impressive university— _Manchester’s nothing to take so lightly, son,_ his father claimed— and worked a part-time job at a tech company that paid enough to not be constantly scrounging to buy things. Honestly, so much had changed for the better since his childhood. He was happier, and his father was, too.

And, somehow, through it all, Dan had managed to stay the same in one aspect.

It was exam season when the stress reached its peak. He had had two finals in a day, in English and European History. By some miraculous occurrence, exams seemed to make his rock-solid mattress seem like a cloud and his frosty, quiet roommate seem like the most welcome company in the world.

He “lay” with his back on his bed and his long legs waving in the air, heels barely brushing the sloped ceiling. He blinked, unfocused and distracted.

It struck him, in the same sudden way that he imagined had happened to the likes of Newton and Einstein. Not quite so genius, unfortunately, but. No one thought they were geniuses in _their_ time, either.

His roommate eyed him, an edge of reasonable apprehension to his gaze, and turned back to his laptop.

Dan reached beneath his bed and pulled out an enormous plastic box. It was about the size of the average encyclopedia, black, and when Dan ran his fingers over it, they came off coated in a thin film of dust. Two slots folded smoothly off the side of the box.

“Dan,” came the voice of his roommate. “Is that a…”

“Yeah, it’s my VCR,” Dan sighed. “I watch tapes on it sometimes.”

Matt— that was his roommate’s name, right? Matt? Or was it Max?— ticked an eyebrow. “What kind of tapes?”

Dan wet his lips and took a smaller, cardboard box from beneath his bed. He opened it, revealing a small treasure trove of tapes. By way of reply, he gently slid one into the slot on the VCR.

“You don't have a screen, though,” Matt murmured, questioning slightly.

“Shh,” Dan smiled, putting a finger to his lips.

There was a beat of silence, Matt opening his mouth hesitantly. “I don’t see—”

The picture flickered to life on the computer screen, glitching and blurring and oh, so _delightfully_ black and white.

On the screen, a man— or a boy?— sat against a bleak dirty floor, wearing what could only be described as a blazer. A terribly ugly, sleazy-looking one, but a blazer nonetheless.

He mustn’t have been any older than his late teens, with unkempt black hair and a smooth, pale complexion. His face held a slightly crazed, gaunt look, like someone who hadn’t slept in weeks and was trying to make the best of what little energy he had.

Dan could relate.

The man leaned towards the camera, slipping on a pair of dark aviator shades. But then, in a moment, the video jump cut to the same man scribbling in a journal of some kind.

 _“I’ve been writing this journal for eight years. Every week, I feed the basket._ ” The voiceover was strongly accented and deep, a chilled narration that had always, always used to send shivers down Dan’s spine in his childhood.

Matt’s nonplussed expression didn’t waver, and a small smile crept across Dan’s lips.

“ _But every week, it gets hungrier and hungrier.”_

The camera cut to a snapshot of the basket’s lid opening in imitation of a hungering animal of some kind, and then to the man himself, mouth open in some kind of roar, or a gasp, or. Something.

Matt raised his eyebrows slightly.

The man- Phil, Dan knew his name, how could he _not_ , he had been his childhood hero and something like an adulthood crush, too- held a hand to the camera. Grasping. Crushing. A fist.

The lighting changed, rapidly, in yet another jumpcut. _Basket. Needs food._ The basket only opened its mouth, growling and begging for food. Hungry. _Hungry_.

Dan’s eyes flickered towards Matt, who had succumbed to an expression of slight bewilderment. Satisfied, he punched the space bar on his laptop and paused the video.

“Wow,” Matt breathed, then cleared his throat. “I mean, er, that’s cool, mate. You should show me more of those sometime.”

“Yeah,” Dan acquiesced, softly. “I really should.”

 

* * *

 

After that night, Dan and Matt’s friendship seemed to blossom, a trust for one another growing steadily between them like ivy on a fence. They talked more than ever, sharing stories of past experiences and future hopes in an easy routine, getting to the point where Matt knew the lore behind almost every one of Dan’s scars and cuts and Dan knew Matt’s entire biography like the back of his hand.

“Hey Matt?” Dan found himself calling one night, not bothering to look up from his laptop where he was intensely writing a thesis on property law. “Did your mum ever like… promise you something as a kid that you still hold her to, like even now?”

Matt looked up, hazel eyes squinting in thought, pensive. “Er… no, I guess, not really. Why, did yours?”

Dan shifted nervously. “Yeah. You know the Lester-”

“Yeah, yeah,” Matt waved a hand. “You’ve told me. You used to watch the Lester tapes with your mum all the time when you were younger. So? What’s this big promise?”

“When I was about, say, seven, all I wanted were two, very expensive things,” Dan recanted. “I wanted a cable television set. And, also, I wanted to go to Disneyland.”

Matt whistled quietly. “High demands.”

“Yeah,” Dan chuckled. “And, since my family had approximately £2, I couldn’t go.”

“Lemme guess. Your mum promised you that when you were older, she’d take you to Disneyland, regardless of whether or not you could afford it.”

“Good guess,” Dan commented, “but not quite. My mom actually promised me that if there ever were to be a Lester tapes theme park, she would take me, regardless of how expensive it would be.”

“And you believed her,” Matt said, unimpressed. “Dan, seriously? How would that even work? Isn’t your mother, like… _gone_ now?”

“I was _seven_ ,” Dan sighed, ignoring the last sentence and tiredly raising a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose.

“And Phil Lester has been dead for, like, a hundred years,” Matt commented, chuckling. “Don’t you, a law student, think that’s just a little… far-fetched? I just don’t think that it’s…”

Upon seeing Dan’s serious, unamused expression, Matt trailed off into silence, sobering rapidly.

“Listen, Dan,” Matt leaned down to look him in the eyes and spoke again, softly, soothingly. “I don’t know how it’ll work, but, mate, I swear, if there ever _is_ a Lester tapes theme park, we’ll go. Mate. Seriously.”

Dan looked at him, a grim, determined expression taking hold. “We’d fucking _better_.”

Matt nodded, smiling slowly. “Good. Now, have I seen _The Silver Button_ yet, or are you gonna keep me waiting?”

 

* * *

 

The two established a casual reliance on one another, and an agreement that Matt would be in charge of food as long as Dan maintained a steady flow of entertainment options. Those options didn’t just include the old Lester tapes, either; at some point in their relationship, Matt had abashedly admitted that he had never seen the Star Wars films, nor had he ever seen _My Neighbor Totoro_. Dan had feigned offence, leaping at the first opportunity to run to the campus library and get the films. That night, Matt brought Indian food, and, over mouthfuls of aloo tikki and basmati, the two had marathoned everything, a tender trust blooming between them as they did so.

Dan found himself growing to sorely appreciate Matt as a companion, wondering how he had ever perceived him to be cold or boring. _Now that I’ve gotten to know him_ , he mused in the middle of the third Star Wars movie, _he seems so much more interesting._

His roommate wasn’t… _unappealing_ aesthetically, either. Under the blue glow of onscreen lightsabers, his floppy blonde hair seemed luminous, with an aqua sheen to it. The light bounced off his hazel eyes, making them glitter slightly.

Dan realized he was gaping and hurriedly closed his mouth. And then, because he had nothing to lose, just decided _fuck it_ , resting his head on Matt’s shoulder. The other stiffened slightly, before relaxing into the touch.

They fell asleep like that, dimly registering the action onscreen through half-lidded eyes, and when they next woke up, the morning was calling, tugging at their consciousness, and everything of the previous night was as good as forgotten.

Oh well.

 

* * *

 

Matt brought a bag of Chinese takeaway one night after the heat and intensity of exam season had faded, in those pleasant and faded weeks in the leadup to the summer holidays. With him, though, he seemed to have brought news. Something important, something that seemed to buzz in excitement all over him.

Dan accepted his sweet-and-sour chicken with a grateful smile, digging in without further ado, letting the sticky sauce drip down his chin. “‘Fanks.”

Matt laughed, knocking his shoulder against Dan’s. “Anytime, mate.”

There was a pause, a beat or two of silence that hung like a dense raincloud, full to bursting with something _big._

“So, um, Dan,” Matt began, tension radiating from his limbs like he was a power line on a hot summer day. “I, uh, I have some news.”

“Really, no fucking shit, mate,” Dan replied, putting down his chopsticks. “Go ahead, spit it out.”

Wordlessly, Matt took out his phone and placed it on the bed in front of Dan.

He seemed to have found some article from Entertainment Weekly, proclaiming some kind of crucial news in big, bold lettering. Dan skimmed over it, frowning slightly as his heart skipped a beat at the words.

“Okay, so, that’s cool,” Dan mumbled, still chewing. “But how do we know it’s real?”

“Well, mate, I thought the same thing when I saw it, but then I stopped by the location they were talking about after class today- took the train, it was supposed to be in an empty field just outside Manchester, Bruckham Street, you know- and. You’re never gonna believe this,” Matt replied seriously, picking up the phone and opening it to a photo. “Look.”

Dan did as he said, peering at the photo- a selfie of his roommate with an enormous banner and a not-so-empty field in the background.

“ _Coming soon: Lesterville. The park of the future._ ” Dan read the banner, a small measure of disbelief coloring his words. He chewed his lower lip, thinking. “Seriously? And you said this is coming next year? To _Manchester_ of all the fucking places in the world?”

“Well, you know, mate, Lester used to live in Manchester,” Matt reasoned. “It’s probably not going to be a very big budget thing anyway. Most of his fans are from here, so the city’s probably gonna be overflowing with them when it’s finally built.”

Dan peered closer at the many objects in the background field, objects which passed for… what? Structural supports, by the looks of them. Big and skeletal. Looming. But, clearly, in the later stages of building.

_Opens October 19th._

Dan ran a hand over his curling fringe and exhaled, lips forming an ‘o’ shape. “And remind me why you didn’t let me know of this sooner?”

Matt flushed. “Well, I… I didn’t want us to be getting our hopes up. I didn’t want it to be one of those things where we place our faith in something only for it to flop and never actually happen. So I went to check out the site.”

Dan looked at him for a moment, brown eyes searching, assessing, _analyzing_. Then, his face split, a wide, warm, all-welcoming grin.

“Have I ever told you how much I genuinely just flat-out appreciate having you as a friend?”

Matt blinked. “Come again?” Evidently, that was the answer he had been expecting. Then, when the words clicked, he ducked his head, a warm, rosy blush blooming on his ears and neck.

Dan laughed, jostling Matt’s shoulder with his own. “Come on, mate. Did you get fortune cookies?”

 

* * *

 

Summer passed.

(“You’re going home to your dad, right?” Matt had asked, tentatively, across the thick darkness of a warm summer night.

A lightning bug buzzed outside the small window.

“Yeah, I think so,” Dan had replied, tugging his duvet over his shoulders and sighing into the pillow.)

The weeks apart had been strained at best, filled to the brim with late night texts and phone calls out of pure boredom when Dan’s grandmother came to visit and when Matt’s father decided that they needed a day at home. The pent-up energy had worn off quickly, however, and it was only too late when Dan began to appreciate just how much rest he was getting to afford the luxury of boredom.

And then, as it usually tends to, the grand old cycle restarted.

Autumn brought with it a chill, as always. The leaves fell to the ground and got soaked in the traditionally English puddles, as usual. The breeze would blow and Dan’s fringe would protest, ruffled, only allowing for Matt to tease him more.

There seemed to be a trend of chilly, windy days this year— jumper weather, truly. At some point in September Matt realized that he had not seen any of his hoodies in at least two weeks. He brought it up over pizza that night, only to laugh his head off when Dan hung his head in guilt.

He’d thought as much.

Like in the previous year, both Dan and Matt found themselves inhaling spiced lattes as their courses intensified, surviving on pure caffeine and adrenaline through September and the beginning of October. But, there was a rewarding aspect to everything: October 19th was approaching, daunting and exciting, and neither Dan nor Matt could fully suppress the excited jolt they felt coursing through their veins at the “Coming Soon,” at the very sight of the calendar with the nineteenth circled in wide permanent marker.

So. Yes. It was coming. Whether they would be ready for it when it did, though, well— that was an _entirely_ different story.

 

Dan stared at the ceiling.

It was satisfyingly boring, a blank grey canvas swathed in darkness, something for which his eyes lacked the energy to strain in an attempt to see. So, to say he was staring at his ceiling was perhaps something of an overstatement. He was more or less just _staring._

It was late, he knew. Of course he had stayed up later, because he was a college student and not an eight year old boy, but he and Matt had made a deal earlier to sleep well before their big day the next morning.

And so, then, in the void of something akin to midnight, he lay there, eyelids refusing to droop, chest refusing to rise and fall evenly, gently. The electric apprehension seemed to crackle against his skin, a slight itch at his muscles telling him to _move_ , _move_ , it’s _time_.

(And Dan couldn’t blame himself, really. This was it— the eve of the day that he had waited for for nearly twelve years, the day he’d truly make his mother proud.)

(He would make his mother proud.)

Dan rolled his head to the aide and, of course, as usual, Matt in his own bed, a soft whistle of breath floating from his lips as his hair, dark blond in the shadows, fluttered loosely above his nose. One thin hand dangled from the edge of the twin bed, barely brushing the floor, and a slight dribble of drool spilled onto the mattress.

_Fuck._

At this sight, the ghost of a smile toned Dan’s lips. He tugged his duvet up to his chin and, peacefully, drifted into a gentle sleep.

 

* * *

 

The nineteenth was a chilly day, surprising compared to the forecast but not unusual for October. There was a sharp breeze that coloured the air every few minutes, carrying a few wayward leaves and the faint scent of coffee.

Dan shivered, his wrists folded into the fleece sleeves of Matt’s yellow jumper. It was a moment of rest, one to savour before the ground turned on itself and the world swam in color, because he knew, he knew that would happen, it always did, he -

He shut his eyes, took a deep breath, and backtracked, back through the events of the day, steadying himself on the grey concrete platform before he got too overwhelmed.

He had woken up at nine, a perfectly respectable hour for a Saturday without any classes. Matt had already been awake and dressed when he woke, sitting across from Dan on his laptop.

Dan had blinked, the world coming into focus, before—

“And what the hell do you think _you’re_ doing?” The words came out sharper than he had aimed for, but, no matter.

Matt had looked up from the laptop, a small, nervous smile cracking across his lips. “I, uh, psychology paper—”

Sleepy panic rose, cold and fearful like bile in his throat. “Matt, no! We’re going to the park today, right?”

“Yeah, of course,” Matt affirmed, standing and placing a steady hand on Dan’s shoulder. “I just thought I’d let you sleep. Don’t think you can get rid of me _that_ easily.”

Dan relaxed, leaning back against his pillow.

“But,” his roommate continued, “that doesn’t mean that _you_ can get away with not getting dressed and staying in bed all day, now, does it?”

Dan grinned, practically shoving himself out of bed, and stumbled over to Matt. He leaned in, and then—

 

Mid-memory, the train rushed into the station, bringing with it a rush of freezing air. Dan’s eyes burned slightly, his fringe whipping out of his face.

Matt glanced at him, blonde eyebrows quirked and green eyes keen.

“Oh, shut up,” Dan mumbled in response to the slight smirk, lightly whacking his best friend on the arm.

Matt grinned, catching Dan’s retreating hand in his own and bringing it down to his side. His other hand went to balance himself against a pole. When he spoke, his voice was low and gentle. “Did your Dad say anything about today?”

A rosy blush bloomed over Dan’s ears and neck. _It’s just the cold_ , he reminded himself. _It’s, er, chilly._ “No. I don’t think he knows about the park. All the better, though, because, I think, uh, it’d just remind him of Mum, and then, well... You know.”

“Oh.” The grin on Matt’s face faded slightly, to be replaced by a determined, serious smile, mouth set in a firm line and eyebrows scrunched in that adorable way of his. And his hand gently clasping Dan’s… Oh, that was nice… He was holding his best friend’s hand on the way to the place that had been his lifelong dream…

_Chill, Dan._

Dan jerked out of his daze.

“—hope you know that I have every intention of making your mother as proud as she’ll ever have been today,” Matt was saying, honestly and heartfully. “And of course. Dan, I understand how much this means to you. I hope you have the time of your life today.”

“Thank you,” Dan replied, quietly and sincerely. “I do, too.”

Dan straightened, his grip on the pole he was holding tightening as he and Matt slipped in unison into the silence of the train.

“ _Next stop, Bruckham Street._ ”

 

It was a five minute walk from the train station to the grounds of the park, most of those minutes spent walking past fields.

But.

At the end of the five minute walk, Dan’s breath caught in his throat, any chance of speech snatched away.

Next to him, Matt drew in a breath sharply.

As Matt had advertised, the park was indeed in the middle of a field, but to only say that was easily selling it short.

Dan’s first thought upon seeing it was: _Holy fucking shit._

His second thought was: _Big._

His third thought was a blur of many things, untranslatable into coherent, understandable human terms but involving the words _Mom. Matt. Sebastian. Lester. Dead. Park. Fuck._

His eyes raked up and down the amazing sight before him, taking in every tiny detail. There was a ticket counter, already almost completely full despite it being the earliest opening hours of the park. A long line snaked away from it, stretching like a magnificent dragon. The entrance could only be described as a set of floodgates, full to bursting with people dressed similarly to Dan and Matt, clad head to toe in various pieces of vintage Lester tape merchandise. The roar and buzz and hum of machinery could be heard from just beyond it, along with the conversation and shrieks of delight from children and adults alike. In gift shops behind the gates he could see row upon row of Sebastian plushies, mini Baskets, postcards, T-shirts, Lester masks, shot glasses, patterned pillows like Phil Lester’s own iconic duvet—

And of course, the cherry on top, the enormous blue and green cursive sign that seemed to shimmer in the sunlight, a Hollywood sign in its own right, proclaiming loudly and proudly _Welcome to Lesterville_.

The world seemed to tilt and blur together. Dan wasn’t sure whether or not he had died and gone to heaven. This certainly felt like paradise.

Matt placed a steadying hand on Dan’s shoulder. “What do you say, mate? Shall we go make Mum proud?”

Dan’s slow grin that followed belied the intense nerves threatening to burst within him. “I’m all for it.”

 

The lines were longer than any he’d ever seen, and the rides more ultimately thrilling than any he had ever been on. Fair enough, considering Dan had never been to a theme park like this one, but even Matt shook his head in amazement after that first ride.

 _You must be at least 150 centimeters tall to ride_.

The rides were arranged in some kind of overarching chronology, telling a story one by one, and all themed around individual Lester tapes. The first ride was _Jack: A Story from the Past_ , and Dan and Matt had excitedly clambered into their seats when their turn came, having seen and loved this particular tape.

Dan couldn’t see a thing in the darkness of the theater, but he couldn’t care less. He had no idea what he was in for, but he trusted the park enough to know that it would definitely be worth it. From what he had seen, the park was as creative in concepts as Phil Lester himself, which led him to wonder whether or not the infamous filmmaker had had a say in the design of it.

He felt over his shoulder for his seat belt and brought it over his torso to buckle it.

Next to him, the soft _click_ of Matt’s own belt was audible over the buzz of excited conversation in the room. “Ready, mate?”

Dan grinned into the darkness. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

_“Keep all your limbs inside the vehicle at all times. Do not stand while the ride is in motion. Please do not bring any food or drink on this ride…”_

And then, they were off.

Slowly but ever so surely, Dan felt as his seat seemed to lift from the ground, rising into the air.

From some unknown source, echoing all around him, a loud, clear voice spoke a distinct message.

_One day, there was a boy named Jack._

The quirky animations of the Lester style flickered to life before him. Big eyes, bright colors, wobbly lines. A face, one with dark hair and big eyes. Jack.

This seemed innocent enough. Dan smiled ever so slightly.

_Jack thought he was an ordinary boy._

Dan’s chair kept rising, and a child’s voice spoke over the bigger one, saying, “ _I’m an ordinary boy, Phil!”_

_But unfortunately, he wasn’t._

The chair halted. Matt’s hand shot out and latched onto his.

When Dan swung his feet, he could not feel the ground.

_Poor Jack…_

Behind him, something moved. He whirled his head around, but saw nothing.

_…had eighty four arms._

And that was when he felt it.

It wrapped around him like a blanket at first, and he relaxed into the touch. Suddenly, though, it constricted, squeezing, suffocating—

Dan gasped for the breath it had stolen away. _Was it supposed to be this realistic?_

And then it released, and air had never tasted so sweet, but wait, where was his chair, where was Matt’s comforting hand in his own—

_People laughed at him…_

And the air was suddenly alive with the sound of laughter, just like his days in school when they’d push and shove him— oh, Suki and Greg and Eliot, his former _friends,_ who’d left him when his interests grew too boring for them…

And he was falling right through it all, falling, _falling—_

_Asked him to carry things…_

He cried out in pain as what felt like a million kilograms fell on top of him, and all he could see was darkness, but somehow black spots were swimming before his eyes— and where was Matt in all of this? Was he okay?

_They tried to shake all his hands at once…_

The arms grabbed at his own, clammy and cold, but the only hand he wanted was Matt’s… warm and comforting… oh, Matt…

_…in a big cloud of hands…_

And he was _in_ it, the cloud of hands, and they had covered his eyes, but it didn’t make any difference because all he could see was darkness anyway…

_He became very depressed…_

_No fucking shit,_ Dan thought frantically, and he was still in freefall, and his mind was working overtime…

_...and threw himself off a mountain…_

Fuck.

The ground came sooner than he would have liked it to. Or, at least, he would have preferred some form of warning before he smacked face-down into the ground.

There was a beat of silence, half a moment of total stillness, and he savored it like a fine wine because he rightfully believed that it wouldn’t last.

His body went numb. The arms were back and they were squeezing at him again, crushing his body as easy as if he were merely an old can of soda—

_All his hands were severed…_

The arms released, and a shuddering sigh of relief racked Dan’s body.

_...and he became known as Octopus Boy…_

Dan laid his palms flat on the floor. It was oddly smooth, cool, and clear. Some kind of glass?

No, actually, at that moment, he didn’t have the mental energy to think about anything other than getting out of this hellscape. He pushed himself upright.

There was light now, a dim blue glow to everything around him. He looked up, only to find that all he could distinguish was darkness and a light grey disk, swathed in shadow.

Now sitting up, Dan’s breath hitched on the thin, cold air. A shiver ran from his head to his toes. _What the actual fuck, Lesterville?_

Slowly, he rose to his feet, running a hand across the strange glassy floor. This entire situation was supremely odd.

Somehow, he didn’t think the ride was supposed to operate this way. Though he wasn’t injured in any way, there was a certain shallowness to his breath and quickness to his pulse that was alarming.

But… then again, if the ride _was_ supposed to be like this, he had to commend the people that had made it that way. It was perhaps _too_ realistic for comfort, but the production value of it all was incredible.

_I have to find Matt._

The thought came with a hushed urgency, a tired desperation that incited his adrenaline rush to forge onwards. He felt out with outstretched palms to orient himself…

…And was confronted by smooth, cool glass.

He should have known.

_He was kept forever in a glass jar…_

“No,” Dan mumbled. “No!”

He pounded his fists against the glass, searching for an opening, maybe, a weak spot, a friendly soul on the other side, maybe Matt, wherever he was, _something_ …

_…in Alfie’s House of Freaks…_

“No…” Dan’s voice broke, and he slumped back against the glass. He then sobbed out a plea, a defeated cry of help for whoever might have been listening. “Save me. Please.”

But his sobs faded, transforming, to his own surprise, into laughter. Crazed, desperate laughter.

The peals of laughter echoed through the jar and through whatever hellish world this was, mocking him in their amplitude, louder than he was. They were on him like a stain, around him, above him, behind him…

Slowly, Dan’s voice died out into a broken giggle. His eyes steadily slipped shut.

When the darkness claimed him, he was already too far gone.

  
  


A whisper, quiet and foreboding...

_Feel my pain…_

  
  


A firm, familiar hand gripped his shoulder and he jolted into awareness.

“Dan? Hey, Dan?” The face before him was blurry but familiar… vaguely blonde hair… an angular face… _where_ had he met them before...

The other person’s face swam into clarity and Dan nearly passed out from the myriad of emotions that threatened to overwhelm him.

Matt frowned. “You alright, Dan? Did you doze off?”

In response, Dan leaped forward and threw his arms around his best friend’s neck. Matt’s cheeks were hot against Dan’s forehead as he awkwardly patted him on the back.

“What happened?” Matt asked, pulling away. His green eyes were bright with concern. “You’re acting like, I dunno, like you haven’t seen me all day.”

“Sorry,” Dan breathed, bringing his hands to scrub away the relieved tears that threatened to break free. “It’s just, you know, after the whole experience with _Jack: A Story of the Past_ … you know, what with it being the first ride… I’m just kind of freaked out right now.”

Matt’s frown deepened. “Dan, first of all, we have been on about six rides today. You’ve been by my side for almost the entire thing. Also, we talked about this, remember? It was deemed too dark for a children’s theme park ride. There’s literally no ride here for _Jack: A Story of the Past_.”

Dan froze. His jaw dropped open, the ghost of a question at the tip of his tongue.

Matt sighed, and tugged Dan’s hand. “Come on. Let’s get you home.”

 

* * *

 

That night, Dan slept fitfully, tossing and turning in his duvet.

He dreamed of a boy. No, two. No, three.

The first boy was small and fragile-looking, thin and pale. His arms were clasped behind his back as he stared up at Dan with blue eyes so innocent-looking it _hurt_.

He couldn’t have been any older than eight.

“ _Have you come to take me away?_ ” He asked, voice clear and high-pitched.

“ _What?”_ Dan replied, but it was more of an articulated thought.

“ _Did the doctors send you to take me away?_ ” The boy repeated, brow creasing slightly.

Dan began to back away, fear clenching cold and firm in his heart.

“ _They_ always _send someone,_ ” the boy remarked, tilting his head. “ _I would think that it’s about time they put me out of this misery.”_

“ _Misery?”_ Dan queried, the voice of his subconscious shaking with panic. “ _I, uh, I don’t—”_ And there, he stumbled backwards, tripping onto his palms. The breaths that he somehow even had in dreams grew shallow.

The boy’s blue eyes widened in realization and concern. “ _You_ are _a friend._ ” He held out a hand in assistance.

But it wasn’t— it wasn’t a hand. Not a normal one, anyway.

Dan instinctively recoiled as the hands multiplied before him— making twenty one, forty two, _eighty four—_

“ _Never mind. You’re just like the others,”_ the boy snarled, eyes flashing red. His voice had taken on an undertone, something dark, something sinister.

And then he was upon him, hands surrounding him like a vice, crushing him, squeezing the life force from his very soul, and it was just like before—

Dan squeezed his eyes shut. The pain grew scorching.

And then it stopped.

There were still arms embracing him, but only two. Two gentle, warm, _normal_ arms.

He opened his eyes to meet familiar hazel ones. A full head of blonde hair. A warm, welcoming smile.

Dan could have cried. He buried his nose in Matt’s shoulder, inhaling that which he could not smell in a dream but could only imagine.

Matt rested his hands on Dan’s shoulders, gripping him firmly. “ _You didn’t think I’d leave you, did you?_ ”

Dan paused, lifting his chin slightly. “ _I did._ ” The voice of his subconscious quavered slightly.

“ _Oh, Dan_ ,” Matt sighed. “ _I’ll never leave you_.”

Dan shut his eyes and gripped Matt tighter as what he knew to be his body shook with the power of his violent sobs.

“ _Are you sure?”_ Dan asked tentatively.

“ _He’ll leave you, Dan. They always do.”_

Dan turned his head around so quickly that he was sure that, had he been awake, he could have gotten whiplash.

“ _And who are you?”_

The newcomer had an unruly mop of black hair that hung low over his eyes and obscured most of his face. His features were pale and vague, like they were about to disappear at any moment.

“ _I’m nobody. No one you want to hear from, anyway._ ” His voice was familiar. A distinct but soft accent, oddly juxtaposed against a tone that Dan’s instincts insisted should have been gentle.

“ _Who_ are _you?”_ Dan repeated, louder, more forcefully.

“ _Your boyfriend didn’t seem to want to stick around and find out_ ,” the other retorted instead, unfazed.

Dan turned and immediately realized that the stranger was right. Matt was gone, having slipped through his fingers as easily as butter.

“ _What did you_ do _with him_?” Dan growled, storming towards the dark stranger. But with every stride he made, the other seemed to grow further away.

“ _Dan_ ,” the stranger placated, folding his palms pleasantly. “ _You don’t want to hurt me. Hurt him. He’s the one that’s doing this to you.”_

Dan cast his gaze to the side, where—

—black hair, blue eyes, pale face—

—or was it blonde hair, hazel eyes, and a tan face?—

—or were they his own features, bright and fearful and _oh, fuck—_

The stranger was laughing now, a harsh and cruel sound that reverberated around Dan’s skull like the sound of shattering glass.

Dan was _drowning_.

“ _Why are you_ doing _this to me_ ?” Dan forced out amid the cacophony. “ _What do you_ want _?”_

The stranger’s mirthless cackle died in his throat, and he knelt down to where Dan was sprawled on the ground.

 

His blue eyes were vivid and cold as he spoke. “ _Dan, get real. Pain is a gift that should be shared, don’t you think?_ ”

 

Dan awoke in a cold sweat, tore off what little covers had been left on him, ran to the bathroom, and promptly vomited into the toilet.

He drowsily made his way back to his bed five minutes later, flopped onto the mattress, and entered a deep, dreamless, and very welcome sleep.

  
  


* * *

  
  


_“Hey! Welcome to Good Morning Manchester. I’m Emma—”_

_“And I’m Greg—”_

_“And we’re here to bring you the best of today, before you start your day.”_

“ _That we are, Emma. So, unless you’ve been living under a rock, you’re probably aware of the new theme park now open in the outskirts of this city.”_

_“Ooh, straight to the juicy topics, I like it! Yes, listeners, what my friend here is referring to is ‘Lesterville,’ the theme park created in honour of Manchester’s own cinematic genius of years past, the one and only Phil Lester.”_

_“He really was a cinematic genius. And, in the spirit of the legendary filmmaker, the park models all of his greatest works, such as all the_ Sebastian _chronicles, the_ Interactive Adventures, _and the iconic—”_

_“I’d like to interrupt this very important bulletin to clarify that my friend Greg here is, deep down, a massive fanboy.”_

_“I am.”_

_“So, Greg, you went to the park yesterday, what are your thoughts?”_

_“It’s just as amazing as I expected, but it still managed to surprise me in some ways. Like, the amount of commercialism there is almost to a Disney-esque scale, but… It’s different, you know?”_

_“Gregory Joseph MacIntyre. Are you implying that Phil Lester’s cinematic masterpieces are better than those of the iconic Walt Disney?”_

_“...Yes?”_

_“I can’t believe this slander. Walt Disney doesn’t deserve this—”_

_“Oh, shut up. Anyway, the rides are cool as hell. It’s an acquired taste, but I think any properly raised British child should appreciate what has been created there.”_

_“Are they like roller coasters?”_

_“No, not really. They’re more like enormous chairlifts where the story plays in front of you but also interacts all around you. It’s interesting to see some of Lester’s darker works brought to life in these rides, even if the darkest ones like_ The Silver Button _and_ Jack: A Story From the Past _aren’t included.”_

_“Wait, why is that?”_

_“Age restriction. They thought some of the rides would be too dark for younger audiences so they didn’t include them.”_

_“That sucks. They should have just put an age minimum on it and gone on with it. I mean, I watched_ Jurassic Park _when I was what, nine?”_

 _“Yeah, it’s kind of ridiculous. Honestly, all of Lester’s best tapes are the darker ones— why restrict that just because a few_ younglings _—”_

 _“_ — _younglings like_ yourself _, Greg—”_

_“—can’t stomach it? And hey, I resent that.”_

_“Too bad. ‘Least I didn’t call you old. Anyway, since you’re obviously the resident expert, why don’t you enlighten us with some history of Phil Lester and like, his life and stuff?”_

_“I mean, there’s like, countless documentaries and stuff about him, but I suppose I could…”_

_“Brilliant. Go ahead.”_

_“So, er, Phil Lester was born in good old Rawtenstall about a hundred and twenty years back, and he had a quirky, if fairly uneventful childhood.”_

_“Quirky like how?”_

_“Quirky like he used to raise hamsters and breed them in his home.”_

_“Oh. Well. That explains a lot, actually.”_

_“He was a deeply emotional child that believed in his actions speaking louder than his words, caring immensely for everyone around him. As a teenager he really enjoyed the_ Buffy: The Vampire Slayer _, and made fan films about the characters, which allowed him to learn how to edit video footage.”_

_“So he basically taught himself?”_

_“For the most part until he was eighteen, yes. Then, he decided to go to uni, and chose York, where he majored in Post Production and English Language, increasing his skills to the point where he was able to create his own films— video diaries, chronicling his days as life went by.”_

_“Okay, that’s all well and good, but… what happened?”_

_“Well, the first few years after uni were blissful for Lester, with freedom like he had never known before, but…”_

_“But_ what _, Greg?”_

_“Like many of us when placed in his situation, Lester grew lonely, and melancholic, and it showed deeply in his work. Without a companion to balance him out, he became severely depressed and explored darker themes in his films. After premieres he would disappear for days at a time.”_

_“And— let me guess— one time he disappeared and wasn’t found.”_

_“Almost. He vanished just before the premiere of what is now considered to be his most famous work,_ Jack: A Story from the Past. _The film was scheduled to premiere two weeks after his thirtieth birthday, but the day before, Lester vanished, seemingly without a trace. Still, the movie premiered, because that was apparently what he had wanted.”_

_“And then?”_

_“He was found two weeks later, totally naked, in a ditch off the freeway just outside Manchester. His body was totally unharmed, and everything appeared to be working as it should have been, without a single hair out of place, but…”_

_“But what?”_

_“Phil Lester died that day. And well, it’s guys like me that are still trying to figure out why.”_

  
  
  


_*_ _*_ _*_

  
  
  


Dan came to slowly, blinking blearily as the world shifted into focus.

He was in a bed. A bed with a very uncomfortable, thin mattress. The scent of antiseptic lingered in the air slightly. A tube protruded from his arm, feeding some clear liquid into his veins. He could hear a faint beeping in some vague, general direction, with the precisely engineered rhythm only inherent in a heart rate monitor.

Conclusion: He was in a hospital.

Matt’s face swam into view, and the two largest shards of Dan’s heart shattered once more at the intense, grim concern that marred his best friend’s normally placid features.

“Are you okay?” Dan’s voice was hoarse from disuse and abnormally quiet, bringing forth a pang of brief soreness from within his chest.

Matt barked a harsh laugh that grated against Dan’s ears. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that?”

Dan rolled his eyes and immediately regretted it, pain shooting back through his skull. “Why am I here, anyway?”

Matt paused, seemingly contemplating how to answer. “You didn’t wake up in the morning at your alarm, and not when I tried to wake you, so I took your temperature and you were. Erm. You were running a fever?”

“How high?” Dan questioned, leaning back further into his pillows.

Matt seemed to be just avoiding meeting his gaze. “Forty.”

Dan whistled. “Damn.”

Matt exhaled a nervous, relieved laugh. It was music to Dan’s ears.

“You have no idea how good it feels to see you awake,” Matt murmured, moving closer to Dan’s bedside. “Don’t ever freak me out like that again.”

“How long was I out?” Dan asked, frowning.

Matt flushed, glaring at the floor.

“How _long_ , Matt?” His voice was sharp enough to cut glass.

His best friend sighed, resigned. “Six days, fourteen hours. Comatose.”

“ _Comatose_ ?” Dan blurted. “Sorry, _what?_ ”

“Yes,” Matt replied, setting his lips in a grim smile. “But, uh, the doctor said you’re fine now, free to do as you please so long as you restrict your cardiac activity by no longer engaging in such emotional excursions as theme parks. He said it’s just a stress attack. You need to sleep more, or it’ll happen again.”

“Yeah.” Dan didn’t meet Matt’s eyes.

“Dan.” Matt’s voice was soft, chiding. “You can’t scare me like this again, understand?”

“Yeah, yeah, Matt, whatever,” Dan waved a hand.

Matt’s gaze was gentle. “Come on. Let’s get that bitch of an IV out of your arm and go get you some solid food.”

 

As it turned out, the dining options in Manchester at _four in the fucking_ _morning_ were rather limited.

Manchester in its wee hours was not much; the occasional honk of a horn, the splash of a car driving through a puddle. Everything glowed in shades of green and red. The only people they saw were either early risers or drunk.

“Why were you even awake?” Dan mumbled over the therapeutic fattiness of a McDonald’s cheeseburger. “Shouldn’t you have been… you know… sleeping at my bedside?”

“That’s more or less what I was doing,” Matt replied, and now it seemed as if the fatigue was kicking in for him. He took a contemplative sip of his steaming coffee. “Except. Well. I wasn’t asleep.”

“How long have you _been_ awake?” Dan frowned. Surely Matt hadn’t…?

Matt sighed, setting his coffee gently on the table to steeple his fingers. “Three and a half days. I took a half hour nap in between.”

Dan choked on his burger. A man from the next table tossed him a red-rimmed glare. “Matt…”

“I know, Dan,” Matt said, and when he continued, he left little room for argument. “But I think it’s high time you stopped worrying about me and let me care for you for a change.”

“Matt, you don’t need to feel my pain,” Dan blurted, and immediately regretted it, because

_Feel my pain._

That regret evidently showed on his face, because Matt then said, in that irritatingly comforting, sweet, perfect voice, “What is it, Dan? Let me help you.”

Dan set down his burger, staring at it as if it had suddenly grown legs and attempted to crawl off his plate. Suddenly it didn’t seem so appetizing. “Matt, actually, you can help me.”

An expression of relief flitted briefly across Dan’s best friend’s face, but was almost immediately replaced by one of rapt attention. “Anything.”

“Take me home.”

 

Home was a warm bed. Home was a comforting pillow. Home was all his organized clutter, just as he had left it, all those days ago. Home is… home was _Matt_.

And yet, somehow, he ended up wanting to leave.

He broadcasted his thoughts to his pillow, because Matt was asleep as soon as they entered their dorm.

_Feel my pain…_

The words echoed like his brain is a cavern, and he couldn’t remember where he heard them. They were vague, but painful. They grated against all five of his senses and more, irritating him and intriguing him all at once.

And then there was that newfound need to go back to the park.

He could understand an unsatiated curiosity to return. After his experience with that weird illusion ride, he was more than interested. However, Matt did say…

No. It wasn’t the park itself that had given him the heart attack. It was stress. He could go back. He owed his mother. He had to.

_Oh, Mum._

He missed his mother. He missed her so, _so_ much.

Did his father even know? About any of this? He probably didn’t. Either way he probably didn’t care much anyway.

His pillow was wet by now.

He fell asleep on it anyway, and this time, there were no dreams to be found.

 

“Matt?” He mumbled groggily as the morning light made itself known against his sore eyes.

There was a hand on his face, cooling and comforting. He instinctively leaned and nuzzled his cheek into the touch.

A soft, warm, familiar voice. “Rest. You will feel better in the morning.”

And so he did.

 

* * *

 

Mornings in their apartment were always nice. Warm. Lethargic.

He lay in bed for a few minutes, staring at the pleasant gold tint that washed over the ceiling and not desiring to make his presence known to his roommate.

His roommate. His best friend. Where would Dan even _be_ without Matt?

Matt, oh, sweet, kind, forgiving Matt… his roommate, his best friend, the _love_ of his _life_...

“Matt, I want to…”

Dan voiced it as soon as he was lucid enough to string together the coherent thought.

Matt glanced up from his laptop, eyebrows furrowing in concern. “Good morning, Dan. What do you need? Tell me. Anything.”

Dan took a deep breath and then spoke, his words cautious, guarded. “I want to go back to the park.”

Matt’s jade eyes hardened suddenly into steel, glinting harshly at him. “Dan…”

“You don’t have to come,” Dan amended, hastily. “If you… didn’t like it.”

Dan cast his gaze downward, hoping his puppy-dog look would have the intended effect.

It didn’t; Matt’s gaze only grew colder.

Dan sighed. “Look, Matt, I won’t be able to sleep at night unless I find out what it is that gave me that heart attack. And I can’t find that out unless I go to the park. We don’t have many options here, mate.”

“You have two options,” Matt replied, voice quiet but unwavering, thin in volume but thick with emotion. “You could go there, into that— that— _death trap_ , or you could stay here, safe and sound with me. I don’t know about you, but the second one sounds like the better option.”

“Fuck you, Matt,” Dan murmured in consternation, but made no attempt to leave.

Neither of them breached the topic for the rest of the day.

 

Dan dreamed of Suki.

It was a memory from back when he was in high school, of himself as an awkward, gangly sixteen-year-old with pale limbs that were too long and too straight, like his hair, his clothes, his demeanor. He stood by his locker, brooding.

And she was there.

“ _Hey, Dan_ ,” she greeted him, blue eyes soft and gentle. “ _You have geography next, right_?”

“ _Hmm? Oh, er, yeah_ ,” he stumbled, looking up, a faint tint of pink dusting his cheeks.

Suki had been his crush for two years now. She was so pretty, so smart, so _perfect_ , and they knew each other so well…

But she probably had eyes for another guy anyway. Or for a girl, for that matter.

She had done something different today. What was it?

“ _Oh, you, er, you dyed your hair_ ,” Dan mumbled. “ _It, er, it looks good._ ”

She grinned, tucking a lock of the aforementioned dyed black hair behind her ears. “ _Thanks. We all knew ginger didn’t suit me. Now I can join you in the edgelord club_.”

“ _Hey_!” Dan protested, but the world was already dissolving. Suki was a blur of watery colour, going, going, gone…

 

He startled awake, confused. He pressed a palm to his head and rubs. _Where had that come from? Suki had had red hair when he had left her… hadn’t she?_

A sudden wave of guilt crashed over him. Forgetting the hair color of his former best friend, his ex-girlfriend, the person he had trusted the most before… before all _this._

And then the guilt turned sweet, suddenly. _I’m moving on_.

 

* * *

 

The days went by at a lackadaisical pace, dawdling on despite Dan’s best efforts to move them along.

He was under medical orders not to return to class for two weeks, which, in theory, seemed _great_ . He deserved a break. Unfortunately, in actuality, two weeks of doing absolutely nothing except lounging on his bed while scrolling mindlessly down Tumblr for hours on end was an incredibly boring experience. That, combined with the sense that everyone seemed to have taken him as their latest pity case, led to a very, _very_ frustrating time.

He was so desperate for entertainment that he had tried convincing Matt to go to his classes and get him some work to do so that he wouldn’t be weeks behind when he returned, but Matt, well. Matt was practically a brick wall at this point and seemed determined to put on a brave face even though he had no need to- or so Dan thought. Sometimes, he would look over at him and he seemed to be quivering slightly, palms shaking and shoulders swaying. However, as soon as the other noticed Dan’s attentive gaze, he immediately snapped to stiff normalcy, fists clenching over any tremors that may or may not have been there to begin with.

As frustrating as that was beginning to become, the most troublesome thing by far was the fact that any and all mentions of the park would be shut down in an instant, Matt’s facial expression immediately falling flat and blank, jaw tightened and green eyes jagged. Dan couldn’t decipher it— sure, _he_ had had problems there, but Matt hadn’t, had he?

He tried asking, one day. A Tuesday, over dinner and appropriated homework that he had stolen from his roommate just to put his busy mind to some good use. Matt seemed, fortunately, only mildly troubled by this, hands twitching slightly erratically as if it was paining him to watch Dan do his homework.

There it was again.

“See, you’re doing it again,” Dan muttered, glancing up at Matt’s face.

Matt froze, blinking rather owlishly. “Doing what?” He asked innocently, and, if Dan hadn’t been his best friend and housemate for two years already, he might have believed him.

Dan rolled his eyes. “Don’t be like that. You know perfectly well what I’m referring to.”

“No, I don’t.” Matt’s tone was hard.

Dan sighed, putting down his pencil. “The- the- twitchy thing. That you do.”

Matt frowned. “I have anxiety. I’m twitchy because I have anxiety, Dan.”

Dan smiled softly. “Matt. You didn’t have anxiety before… before the park.”

“I thought we weren’t talking about the park,” Matt murmured, voice slightly hoarse.

“ _You_ aren’t, maybe,” Dan replied. “What is it? What happened at the park? Matt, seriously, you can tell me, you’re my— I’m your—” What? What were they? Housemates? Friends? Best friends? _Lovers_?

 _No, Dan._ Dan shook himself slightly. _This isn’t a dream._

“Best friend, I know,” Matt finished, head cradled in his palms, and Dan breathed a soft sigh of relief. “But. Just. Leave me be, just this once.”

Dan’s patience was beginning to wither away. “What if I can’t?”

Matt looked up, green eyes wide. “What?”

“What if I _can’t_ just leave you be?” Dan repeated. His gaze was fiery.

“Dan, you can’t…” Matt began, but Dan wasn’t having it.

“Actually, I think I damn well can, thank you very much,” Dan cut him off. “ _I’m_ the pity case here. I don’t think _you_ have any right to act so terrified when, as far as I know, nothing happened to you like what happened to me. And, if something happened, I think I should know, but that’s a whole other can of worms. Why do you act like you’ve seen a ghost every time you see me? What happened, for you, at the park?”

Matt stood and walked towards their window, his gaze turned downward, and Dan’s expression softened, smiling gently at Matt’s retreating back.

“Matt. You can tell me anything, you know? Anything.”

Matt looked up suddenly, eyes burning wild and verdant. “Do you really want to know? What happened the night after we came back from the park?”

“Yes, _of course_ I do, Matt!” Dan exclaimed. “What have I been saying this whole time? Have I been speaking Chinese? What happened, Matt? What happened to you?”

“Nothing,” Matt replied, shortly.

“Oh,” Dan said, feeling slightly insulted.

“Nothing happened to _me,_ at least,” Matt continued. Dan blinked. “But you, Dan… _you…_ ”

“What was it? Was it the shock heart attack? Remind you of your own mortality?” Dan asked, holding out a comforting hand.

“No,” Matt murmured. “Dan. It reminded me of yours. You died, Dan.”

Dan blinked again. And again.

“I…”

“Yes.”

“How long?” His voice was barely a whisper.

“Thirteen hours.”

“That’s not possible.”

Matt laughed, disturbingly bitterly for someone who had always been a beacon of positivity in Dan’s life. “Well, you’re alive right now, aren’t you?”

Dan sighed, head in hands. “Oh, Matt. I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Matt replied. “It wasn’t your fault. _I’m_ sorry.”

“Anything else you want to tell me, since this is apparently an hour of dramatic revelations?” Dan asked, an edge of sarcasm colouring his tone, if only to console himself.

Matt paused, considering, then spoke. Carefully, as if navigating a minefield of broken glass. “Dan, I… I felt it.”

A cold feeling of sinking dread filled Dan’s abdomen. “Felt what?”

Green eyes gazed directly into Dan’s own, emotional and hazy. “I… felt your… pain. Just for a fleeting moment. Right as you were… dying. What is going _on_?”

Dan did what instinct told him to do: he fled.

  


* * *

  


Dan had always loved the way streets of Manchester in the late afternoon possessed that enamoring briskness, the way the wind whisked over the narrow streets with an urgency that was rare in nature. He had always loved the thick, blanketlike grey clouds that cast over the sky. Now, in the chill of late November, he was getting all of his favorite things.

As he walked down the street, gaze carefully trained on the crinkling leaves as they skittered down the pavement, he couldn’t help but dwell on the shock of the conversation he had just had. It was like something out of some kind of awful fever dream. He had _died_ . He had been _dead._

The most nauseating thing about it by far, however, was the fact that he had allowed Matt to grieve in silence, or worse, blame _himself_. The very thought made his stomach lurch. What kind of douchebag was he, to allow his best friend to think that way and then blame said best friend without knowing the whole truth?

A throbbing headache had at some point wormed its way past his troubled psyche into his temples. Dan shivered, pressing a hand to his forehead to curb it.

His phone buzzed in his pocket. _Matt_.

Dan sighed, a finger trembling as it pressed _decline call._ However, when he did so, his gaze fell on an earlier notification, one he had missed in his haste. The edge of his lip curled into a smile.

In either of the two years he had lived in Manchester, he had never been more thankful to have kept in touch with his old primary and secondary school sweetheart.

Suki’s room was only a few minutes’ walk from his own, as she was now in her first year at Manchester after taking a gap year abroad. However, despite their amicable breakup, he had not visited her in their time at uni, so it took a few minutes to find her room.

The girl behind the counter in Suki’s building eyed him with no small measure of suspicion when he asked for his friend’s room number, and it took a considerable amount restraint to prevent him from rolling his eyes. He didn’t look that bad, did he? His hair was mussed, sure, but that was from sleep and from running his hand through it in nerves. His shirt was unbuttoned… Okay, maybe he did look ‘that bad’.

“Suki, I’ve got a guy here to see you,” the blonde said into the phone. “Says his name is Dan Howell, he’s—” she looked at Dan, covering the mouthpiece of the phone with the palm of her hand, “how did you say you knew her again?”

“Friend from high school,” Dan supplied, rocking on his heels.

“He says he’s a friend of yours from high sch—” She was again cut off, this time not by herself but by rapid speech on the other end of the line. “Okay, thanks, I’ll send him up.”

She gave him a calculating look before saying in a clearly begrudging voice, “Room 14, second floor.”

Dan shot her a winning smile as he went over to the stairs. She rolled her eyes.

 

Suki answered the door almost immediately after Dan knocked. She was beautiful as ever, even in her current jumper-and-sweatpants-wearing state. Her black hair trailed down her shoulder in an unruly but efficient braid. Her face was thin, but with the undeniable pallor of someone who was healthy and happy, if a little stressed. He remembered falling in love with her once. He didn’t regret it.

“Dan?” She intoned, a touch of expectation coloring her voice. Her blue eyes were wide with concern. “Hey. What did you need me for?”

“I was just a little-”

“Stressed, I know,” Suki sighed, pressing her lips in a firm line. “Come on and fill me in. I’ll put some tea on.”

“Thank you. I really appreciate it,” he replied honestly, following her into her dorm as the door swung shut.

“You can just go in there, I guess,” she murmured, gesturing to a small sitting area. “I don’t need to tell you not to reorganize anything, do I?” She seemed to accept his cautious nod as an acceptable answer before disappearing into her small kitchenette.

Her room was impeccably neat but unobtrusively so, the sort of neatness that strictly served the purposes of efficiency and aesthetic without being too obnoxious. It reminded him distinctively of her room from back home in Wokingham with its windows that seemed bigger than they actually were and its color scheme, all whites and muted pinks. Sitting awkwardly on a blush-coloured bean bag chair, he glanced around at all the various trinkets around the room, somehow simultaneously feeling uneasy and perfectly comfortable. Everything was so familiar, reminiscent of their ill-fated but fun relationship, but… not right, somehow.

Suki returned to the room some five minutes later, bearing two steaming mugs of tea, one embossed with the Guild Wars logo, which she handed to Dan, and the other shaped like a boot, which she took. She took a seat across from him in an identical bean bag and gazed at him, eyes cerulean and calculating.

“Tell me, Dan,” she spoke, and Dan instantly knew that she had adopted her ‘therapist voice.’ “What brings you to my neck of the woods?”

“Stress,” Dan confessed. He sipped his tea. It was good, slightly minty with a hint of spice. The steam left small patches of condensation across his nose and cheeks.

“How much stress?” She asked. “Are you coping?”

“Barely,” He confessed. “It’s just… it’s a lot to deal with, that’s all.”

“Relationship stress?” Suki inquired. “Your girlfriend- or boyfriend, I guess- giving you trouble?”

Dan thought for a moment. How could he explain his relationship with Matt? “I guess he’s not my boyfriend, not officially.”

“Evidently not, since you considered coming to talk to your ex-girlfriend about it,” she snorted.

Dan stiffened. “Suki, I swear, it’s not like that-”

She chuckled, eyes softening. “Dan. I have a girlfriend. You don’t have to worry about offending little old me.”

Dan choked on his tea. “Seriously? What’s her name?”

“Jasmine,” Suki replied fondly. “She’s great. I should introduce you two sometime. You’d hit it off great. But anyway, this isn’t about me. We need to talk about _you_.”

Dan nodded wordlessly, taking another cautious sip of his tea. It left little stinging patches on his tongue as it slid smoothly down his throat.

“So, relationship stress,” Suki redirected the conversation easily. “Anything else?”

“Just… general life stress,” he muttered, not meeting her eyes. “It’s kind of… hard to describe.”

“You don’t have to tell me,” she said gently. “You don’t have to, but I think it would be better for you if you did.”

He abruptly looked up. “What’s your major?”

She gave him a hint of a glare. “We’re talking about _you_ , Dan, remember?”

“Is it psychiatry?” He persisted.

She looked at him for a long moment. Then, the beginnings of a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth and pulled, forming a wide grin. “Yeah. How did you guess?”

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe the fact that _I have eyes_ helped me out a bit on that one,” he retorted, unwittingly injecting a sharp bite into his words.

He envisioned her tapping a pencil on a clipboard. The mental image worked with slightly too much harmony for his comfort.

“Anyway, I don’t tell shrinks my problems, so now that you’re one of them, I won’t tell you.” He folded his arms defiantly, sinking back into the bean bag.

“Okay, fine,” she replied, mirroring his motions.

There were two beats of silence. Something deep within Dan’s chest stirred, itching for him to tell her.

“Okay, _maybe_ I’ll tell you,” he relented.

She grinned.

“So, you know the park that opened in-”

“I fucking _knew_ it,” Suki interrupted, looking triumphant.

Dan blinked. “What?”

“Lesterville. I _knew_ this had something to do with that,” she muttered, smiling. “Anyway, continue.”

“How did you-” Dan began to protest, but thought better of it. She had been his best friend for thirteen years of his life. He supposed that there were very few things about himself that she _didn’t_ know. “Actually, never mind. So I was at Lesterville, right, and I was having the time of my life. Also, my roommate. Have you met him?”

“What’s his name?” Suki folded her forearms on the table and leaned forward, jumper bunching at the elbows as she did so. Her eyebrows furrowed, forming a little crease down the bridge of her nose.

“Matt,” Dan supplied. “He’s blonde, green eyes, about…” he gestured a vague height slightly taller than his own, “this tall?”

“Hmm,” Suki replied succinctly. “Don’t think I’ve had the pleasure of meeting my ex-boyfriend’s new arm candy.”

“Suki, he’s not my-” Dan sighed and forged onwards, pressing his eyes with his palms in exasperation. “ _Anyway_ , I went to Lesterville with Matt, and we were on the Jack: A Story from the Past ride, and I had this weird, like, vision thing.”

“Vision like how? Like, a hallucination, or like...” Suki frowned, trailing off. “And I thought that that was one of the few tapes that hadn’t been adapted? Like, wasn’t there not supposed to be a ride for Jack: A Story from the Past?”

Dan nodded. “See, that’s the thing. It was like I had a sort of fever dream, but I thought it was just part of the ride because it was so _weird_.”

“And it never occurred to you that the ride literally didn’t exist?” Suki’s frown deepened. “Did you like, wake up, or…?”

Dan shook his head. “I thought the entire thing was real until I asked Matt what he thought about it and he looked at me like I had two heads.”

Suki smiled slightly. “So you had a hallucination. But something tells me that that’s not all that happened, is it?”

“No, it’s not,” Dan confirmed. “So, the night of the opening of the park- this was like a month ago, by the way- we came back to our dorm and I was fucking _exhausted_. I fell on my bed and slept like a rock.”

At his pause, Suki gestured for him to continue.

Dan inhaled. “And then, like it had been nothing, I woke up in the hospital, six days and fourteen hours later. From a coma.”

Suki whistled softly. “And?”

“I barely remembered anything, at first. I was scared out of my mind,” Dan admitted. “But then Matt was there and everything was alright again.”

“So what happened in this vision? What was so bad about it?” Suki’s voice was businesslike but not impersonally so, with the air of firm emotional authority that only a therapist could claim to have.

Dan paused. It had been so long ago, and despite its initial horrifying vividity, seemed to have faded in his memory. “There was… a man. Black hair, blue eyes, pale. Spitting image of…”

“...Of Lester,” Suki finished for him. “Okay.”

“He was threatening me,” Dan murmured, tugging nervously at his sleeve. “There was a little kid, too. It was just like in the film.”

“Like in the film like, how?” Suki asked, a touch of disbelief colouring her tone. “Like Jack: A Story from the Past?”

“Yeah,” Dan replied, feeling a little bit silly. “Eighty four arms.”

“And what was the man- let’s call him Lester- saying?”

Dan strained to remember. “He was… threatening me. He wanted me to… feel his pain.” His voice broke.

Suki’s clinical expression softened, delicate sympathy washing over her features. “Oh, Dan,” she remarked kindly, leaning in. Gentle arms wrapped his frame, cradling him in warm, familiar comfort.

He didn’t even realize he had been crying until he felt the dampness on her sleeve.

 

Later, Suki brought up food from downstairs. It was stir fry, his favourite, but somehow everything he ate seemed to leave an unpleasant taste on his tongue.

After the white styrofoam containers had been thrown away and Dan had washed up, she suddenly thrust a bundle of thick clothing into his unsuspecting arms.

“Pyjamas,” she said. “Change into them, you can sleep in my bed.” At Dan’s subsequent protest, she had only held up a firm silencing hand. “Dan, you’re in severe psychological shock, and that, combined with the fact that I probably know you better than anyone else on campus, vetoes any couch restrictions you might have previously had.”

“But your girlfriend,” Dan argued. “Jasmine, right? Won’t she…”

Suki’s extremely unimpressed look shut him up right there and then.

In the drowsy comfort of his ex-girlfriend’s bed, Dan slept more peacefully than he had in months.

 

As soon as he woke up, a little feeling of wrongness flared in some dark corner of his mind.

Suki’s apartment was eerily quiet, perhaps too quiet for the time of day, judging by the mid-morning light that illuminated the floor around his feet. It wasn’t the quiet of a house in the daytime, either, not the type of quiet that signified that the inhabitants would simply be back home later. It was almost like it had been… _abandoned._

When he entered the main room, his suspicions were confirmed. The tile floor of the small kitchenette was littered with jagged shards of ceramic and stains of something red that put a sinking, empty feeling in Dan’s stomach. Dishes were haphazardly strewn across those countertops that had been pristine and empty only the previous evening. The couch was torn in some places that it hadn’t been the night before.

“Suki?” Dan called, fear clenching cold and deep in the pit of his stomach when there was no response. “Suki!”

Hands trembling, he fumbled for his cell phone in his pocket. He nervously dialed in Matt’s number before jabbing his finger at the call button.

He gripped the phone tightly as if he feared dropping it, and it shook in his hand in harmony with his nerves.

_You’ve reached Matt Gatwood’s number. Leave a message after the tone and I’ll be back with you as soon as I can._

_Beep._

Dan’s heart beat aggressively against his throat as he lowered the phone, lips parted in shock.

His gaze fell on a little post-it note tacked to the counter. It was pink, flowery- Suki’s standard stationery. There was handwriting on it. It wasn’t Suki’s.

_Hey Dan,_

_If you want to see Suki or your precious Matt, it would be wise to come to Lesterville as soon as possible. No tricks. No weapons either, though they won’t work. I’m excited to see you._

_Yours,_

_Phil Lester_

 

* * *

 

The train ride out of Manchester was possibly the most excruciating fifteen minutes of Dan’s life.

Thoughts of pain, of loss, of his friends’ faces, what they might have said as they had been taken away. Had they cried out? Had they fought-

_No._

That stubbornly active corner of his mind shut down abruptly, bringing a strange placid expression over his facial features. He wasn’t going down that route. He needed to think, to formulate a plan, and those emotions wouldn’t help him right now.

Oddly, most of his mind seemed eager to comply with that suggestion, for once.

What was this? Was it some prank, in horrible taste? Was it all a dream, a psychological creation to bring himself to make peace with the memories of his mother’s death? Or was it the real deal?

He couldn’t will himself to believe that this was really the doing of Phil Lester the not-so-friendly ghost, but the evidence was too compelling to suggest otherwise. Pranksters could not manufacture an individual hallucination and could not induce a shock heart attack. A dream could not involve such elaborate details. Perhaps it really was a ghost of some kind, a spirit haunting the park.

...Which meant there really wasn’t much Dan could do counter it.

The cold clenching feeling in his stomach that had come to be his most constant companion returned with a vengeance.

_“Next stop: Bruckham Street. Please stand clear of the doors while they are opening and closing and…”_

Dan rose from his seat as the train came to a gradual stop. There were barely any people getting off with him, most people probably having arrived at the park earlier in the morning. As he stepped out onto the small platform, there was almost an ominous feeling - an eerie emptiness that seemed to linger all around him.

His breath made small puffy clouds of moisture in the November air, but the chill was meaningless to him. He was dressed sparsely, of course, in only the sweatshirt and jeans he had worn to get to Suki’s apartment the previous day, but through his intense focus it barely registered.

Dan looked up, squinting in the too-bright sunlight, and there it was.

Lesterville.

 

The first thing he noticed was the strange lack of crowd of any kind. It was empty, almost deserted, and an empty feeling hung pensively in the air alongside the vague scent of stale popcorn.

“Hello?” Dan shouted. It echoed, bouncing off every surface that surrounded him, fading into silence - choking, suffocating silence.

And then he was alone.

His shoes made soft crunching sounds against the gravel ground that seemed too loud in his ears. He grimaced. He had been preparing for crowds, but this - this was just - _odd._

“Excuse me, sir?”

He whirled around, heart pounding in his throat.

“Sir, you’re not supposed to be here, it’s - park’s closed today.” It was a security guard, a tall woman with close-shaven hair and dark eyes. “Sorry about that.”

“Kind of gathered that the park was closed,” Dan breathed, his heart rate slowly returning to normal. “Why’d they close it?”

“‘Fraid I can’t tell you too much detail on that, sir,” the guard replied. Her uniform read ‘Tracy Blount.’ She stepped in the direction of the park entrance and beckoned for him to follow. “Come with me. The park’ll be reopened tomorrow.”

He cautiously followed her after only a moment’s hesitation. “So, uh… What’s going on?”

“Management said to close the park,” Tracy replied, facing forward. “It’s… Er, it’s just repairs.”

“Okay,” Dan said softly, relaxing. The cold began to settle in, forming a dull, numb ache in the tips of his fingers and nose.

Unfortunately, it seemed he couldn’t catch a break these days.

Tracy made a choked grunt, abruptly coming to a halt. One hand grasped weakly for her neck as she fell to her knees, ducking her head. The other flew to her ear as if she were hearing something urgent.

Alarm bells rose in a dramatic crescendo in Dan’s chest. “Tracy? Are you alright?”

The security guard looked up, eyes glassy and unfocused. When she spoke, her voice was cold and robotic, so different from the one Dan had just heard. “Yes, sir. Right away, sir.”

She slumped backward, limp. Dan raced forward to catch the back of her head before she hit it on the gravel earth.

His breath made fog in the air as he fumbled for his phone. He reached in his pocket only to find it was empty. He looked up, panicked. Ah. There it was, only a few feet away. He must have dropped it.

He leaned backward, one hand grasping for it-

And before he knew it he was on _his_ back, a hand at his throat.

Tracy’s eyes were bright and steel. “I’m sorry, Dan. But I have to do this.”

She picked him up with ease, hoisting him up on his shoulder as if he were merely a rag doll, and his head lolled. He was too tired to protest.

He blacked out without realizing he had never told her his name.

 

* * *

 

The world swam with color. Too many colors.

What was going on, where was he-

He vaguely became aware that he was lying on a floor of some kind. Everything he saw was neon, and bright, too bright.

Dan clenched his fists, struggling to push himself into an upright position.

“Easy there, Dan,” came an easy, sickeningly familiar voice. “You don’t want to overexert yourself.”

Dan spluttered. And blinked. And then the world came into focus.

Oh, fuck.

 

Philip Lester looked down at him with clear blue eyes and curled his lip.

“Nice of you to pop by, Dan,” the dead filmmaker remarked wryly, turning his gaze to his fingernails. “Do you like my new look?”

“New— new look?” Dan stumbled. His tongue was slowly gaining back its agility, but it still felt like a useless wet lump in his mouth. “What was your old one, the godforsaken corpse you just left behind?”

Lester’s unemotional expression didn’t change, but his tone turned reproachful. “Now don’t be that way, Dan. It’s all in good fun.” He gazed back at Dan. “You know, I’ve been waiting for you to show up. I would have thought that you would RSVP for our little party a little bit sooner, but of course, you are fashionably late, as always. Please, make yourself comfortable.”

“I have…” Dan, still on the floor, coughed, spitting crimson onto his hoodie, “I have no idea what the _fuck_ you’re talking about.”

Lester grinned, but it looked stretched and artificial. _Probably another side effect of being dead_ , Dan thought. The ghost (because what could he be but a ghost?) leaned in until their noses were no more than an inch apart and hooked a strangely corporeal finger under Dan’s chin.

The voice was chilling. It sent tremors up and down Dan’s spine. “Oh, trust me, my dear Daniel… You will. You. Will.”

The world went black.

 

...And then it wobbled into focus. Dan gradually became aware that he was now standing.

“Ladies and gentlemen, tonight we have the entertainment of the century - the greatest show of all time - the ultimate fun time, welcome to-”

Dan’s eyes widened. He frantically looked around for some light.

But he didn’t need to.

The lights came on, and the music, and the colors, colors, colors-

“-Lester’s magical Wheel of Misfortune!”

Philip Lester stood in the center of the large, obscenely neon stage, clad in a silver suit covered in sequins. He was still very slightly translucent, like in the apples of his cheeks and at the tips of his fingers. The ghost was grinning, a sick smile that put Dan’s gut in twists.

“I’m Phil Lester, and I’m your host on this wonderful show. Today, we have an _extra_ special guest with us, an old friend of mine that I’ve just been _dying_ to have on this show… Dan Howell!”

The spotlight shone in Dan’s face, dappling his vision with black spots. Applause, whoops, and cheers echoed through the… where was he?

Lester turned to Dan, smile not fading but turning to one of pity. He spoke more quietly. “Do not despair, Dan. All will be explained in due time.”

“It better be,” Dan’s voice was far too hoarse for his liking. He made to leap at the ghost, only to find that his wrists and ankles were tied in place.

Lester tutted briefly, turning back to the audience. “Now, we have some new rules on the show, since our guest is so special. Dan, if you could just come up to the wheel and I’ll explain- oh, wait, you can’t! I’m sorry!” He laughed, a high, lofty, mocking laugh. Dan’s stomach seemed to be practicing its flexibility.

Dan felt nauseous as whatever invisible force strapping him back carried him over and deposited him at the wheel.

The wheel was enormous and as colorful as everything else on the stage. Staring at it, he recognised it to be one of the wheels from the many trivia games at Lesterworld.

“I see you’re familiar with this sort of game, Dan, so I’ll save you the trouble of listening to me talk,” Lester said seriously. “However, I do think that some people in our studio audience would like to know, so I must explain.”

He turned on his ‘stage voice’ and stood in center stage. “In Wheel of Misfortune, our guest spins this wheel and receives a category. He then must answer the question that appears on the board. If he answers correctly, he continues in the round. If Danny boy answers even one question incorrectly, well-” Lester chuckled darkly. “He must choose.”

Dan blinked. “Choose what?”

Lester’s grin widened. “Please, Daniel, you shall see, I promise you.”

“Okay,” Dan growled, crossing his arms. “Well, let’s get to the game, then.”

The ghost turned to the audience, a comical expression on his face. “ _Someone_ ’s impatient!”

Dan grimaced as the audience laughed too loudly, too obnoxiously. “I just want to get on with it.”

“Alright, alright,” Lester placated, walk-floating over to the wheel. “Please, my amazing guest, spin the wheel and find your misfortune.”

Dan’s eyebrows furrowed. One arm came free of the invisible grips and moved the wheel.

It spun, a blur of red, green, blue, yellow. The silver ticker made soft clicks. Blood pounded in Dan’s ears.

The wheel landed on _Life History_. Lester smiled. “Ah, my dear Daniel, you seem to have landed on Life History. Are you prepared to answer a question on this category?”

Dan opened his mouth to answer, but the ghost seemed to not be interested in what he had to say.

“Good. Now, please, tell me- in what city was Philip Lester - that’s me, isn’t it, oh, would you look at that - born?”

Dan sighed in relief. He knew all the history there was to know about Philip Lester. He answered confidently. “The sheepy town of Rawtenstall, England.”

The audience applauded. Dan gazed defiantly at the ghost, who stared back at him knowingly.

“Excellent. That is correct.”

Dan spun the wheel again, feeling more confident. The colors blurred together before landing on _Videos._

“Hit me.”

“Oh, gladly,” the ghost replied dryly. “Dan, please tell me- which of these challenges did Philip Lester invent? Your choices are the 7 second challenge or the toilet tag.”

Dan didn’t even need to think about it. “That’s a trick question, you invented both.”

“Very good, Dan.” Lester even had the gall to sound impressed. The applause didn’t seem so deafening in Dan’s ears anymore. “Third time’s the charm, darling. Take it away.”

Dan exhaled, breath whistling quietly, as he spun the wheel. It landed on _Secrets._

Lester’s eyes glinted. “Please tell me, Dan. Why is Phil Lester so obsessed with you?”

Dan’s heart skipped a beat. His voice died in his throat. “I…”

Lester smiled. “Come now, Dan. Surely the answer to this is easy. Even I know it.”

“You’re a damn egotist,” Dan replied. “Of course you do.”

“Okay,” the ghost replied. “So, why are you here?”

Thud. Thud. “You want to kill me.”

There were two beats of silence. “Technically correct, I’ll give you that, but… I’m sorry, Dan, but that’s just not what I’m looking for.”

The invisible force tightened its grip as Dan threatened to break free. He struggled and flailed, kicking and yelling.

Lester turned to the audience, apologetic. “I’m sorry about our rather… undignified guest. He isn’t usually like this.”

_“Make him choose! Make him choose!”_

Lester faced Dan. “You heard the rules. It’s time for your choice.”

Dan exhaled heavily. “Okay. Bring it on.”

“Your choice…” Lester began, pausing for dramatic effect, “Is to choose a prize.”

“Oh,” Dan said dumbly. This wouldn’t be too bad.

“You must choose a prize that you will take with you.”

He was wrong.

“Alright, bring out the prizes,” Lester hollered, turning to stage left. The wall moved, revealing five secret compartments.

“Our least valuable prize…”

At the cue, the first compartment opened, revealing a box full of tapes.

“...are these tapes, a relic from your childhood. If you get this, you can relive all your childhood memories as if they were yesterday.”

Oh, oh fuck. The prizes were _his_ stuff.

Dan opened his mouth in protest, but was silenced by a look from Lester.

“Our second prize…” Lester smiled oddly, “Is this beautiful girl right here. Your high school girlfriend, if I’m correct? And she was quite a good one too. Quite a shame that she turned out to have never loved you at all.”

Dan’s heart panged. Suki, oh, precious, dear Suki, unconscious, slumped against the wall of the glass box.

“Our third prize…” Lester paused again, and Dan suddenly knew who it would be. “One of your favorite people, if I’m not mistaken. Your roommate. Or, shall I say, former roommate, because I think now he’s much more than that to you.”

Matt, beautiful, incredible, kind Matt. _I’m so sorry_ , Dan wanted to say. In his head he was screaming in pain.

Matt had a line of blood trailing down from his hairline, he was so strong, he had _fought_ …

“And our fourth prize, I think you might want this one, Dan,” Lester told him, only a dash of mocking evident in his voice. “Your… well, I think you’ll see.”

It was his mother. And there was color in her cheeks. And her eyes were open. And she was screaming, crying. But no sound came out.

 _Why are you doing this_ ? He wanted to scream. _What do you want from me?_

“Our fifth prize,” Lester’s voice was idle, as if he couldn’t care less about how Dan was feeling, “is right here. Myself. If you’ll have me, that is. Oh, wait, you will. No matter what.” He laughed mirthlessly.

Dan’s mouth felt like it was full of cotton. His heart felt like it was being slowly ripped to pieces.

“Well, Dan?” Lester turned expectantly to him. “What do you choose?”

“Sorry, what am I choosing them for?” Dan asked, doing his best to keep his voice steady.

“You are choosing one person, or object, to take with you.”

“And where am I going?” He breathed heavily, the anxiety that had taken root now blossoming.

“You’re going to feel my pain, of course,” Lester smiled.

He felt hopeless, like he hadn’t breathed in years. None of the options were good. He had to choose one of his closest loved ones to live, as a sort of comfort blanket while he- what? Existed in constant pain, with the rest of his friends dead? Somehow, this didn’t seem like a win-win situation.

“I understand that this is a difficult choice, Dan,” the ghost said mildly. “I’ll allow them to say a few words to you. Two minutes, Dan. Then, you must decide.”

The glass doors fell open. Suki and Matt blinked, waking up.

Dan’s mother, on the other hand, ran out of her box and clasped her hands around his face. “Dan, please don’t choose me. I’ve been gone this entire time and you’ve been fine. Choose one of your friends. Please.”

“Mum…” Dan murmured. He squeezed his eyes shut, blinking back the tears. “Mum, I’ve missed you so much…”

“Dan!” Suki tapped him on his shoulder. “Please choose her. You deserve to live with a good mother, not a shitty ex-girlfriend like me.”

“Yeah, Dan, choose her,” Matt agreed, his voice deep and hoarse but oh so _warm_.

Dan choked on a sob as he threw his arms around his roommate. “Never let me leave you again. Okay?”

“Yeah,” Matt’s voice broke.

“We’re never going to watch a Lester tape again, are we.”

Dan smiled sadly. “I don’t think so, no.”

“Dan, listen to me.” Dan turned to his mother. “I know that this is stressing you out. But all I need for you to do is to think of us, okay? Whatever happens, we’re here for you. And you don’t ever, _ever_ have to be afraid.”

“Time’s up, happy family,” said Lester, sounding bored. The audience gave several loud _aww_ s. Suki flipped them off.

“So, Dan,” Lester steepled his fingers. “Have you made your choice?”

“I think,” Dan replied. He forced his expression and his tone into ones of calm.

“Let’s hear it, then.”

He lined up the facts. He was trapped by an evil ghost reincarnation of his favorite childhood hero and dead filmmaker, Philip Lester. By the fact that Lester was a ghost, it could be assumed that he was not all the way dead. And if he wanted Dan to feel his pain, that meant…

Dan wouldn’t be living. He’d be dying.

So, the person he picked would also die.

“I choose you.”

Lester’s face contorted from one of mild interest into one of disbelief. “What?”

“I choose you, Philip Lester.”

“Dan, don’t-!” Suki’s scream was piercing. His mother and Matt stood by, wordless.

“Thank you so much.” Dan leaped forward, out of the invisible constraints and at the ghost. “For everything.”

There was a flash of blinding light. And then-

  


* * *

  


Dan opened his eyes blearily. He was buried in blankets. There was a hand on his face, a warm, comforting, gentle hand…

“Mom?” He croaked.

“Not quite.” Amusement. Kindness.

He blinked. Matt’s smiling green eyes came into focus. He tried to smile, but the muscles of his face protested.

“Morning, sleepyhead. Don’t worry, I’m not going to make you go to school,” Matt chuckled. He looked off to the side. “Must’ve been some dream.”

Dan sat bolt upright. Matt seemed startled by his sudden movement.

“Dream?” Dan’s voice was a quiet rasp.

“Yeah,” his roommate replied. “Nightmare?”

“Oh, the worst.” Dan stared at his palms.

“Same here.” Matt stood, turning towards the window. “You know, I usually have practical dreams, about, like, realistic stuff… like, I was expecting dreams about that psych paper, not, fucking, supernatural stuff.”

“What did you dream about?”

Matt’s expression turned pensive, scrunching into that old ‘thinking’ face Dan had missed so much. “I don’t know, it was like, we were at Lesterville, right, and there was this game show thing… I know, it’s silly, but…”

“It’s… it was just a dream, Matt,” Dan said slowly. His heartbeat pounded in his ears.

“It was,” Matt agreed.

Dan exhaled, standing. Weird. He was fully dressed.

These were the clothes he had worn when he’d-

The memories vanished just before he could grab them, slipping through his fingers like mist.

“It was weird. I’m pretty sure Philip Lester himself was the host, and also he, like, wanted to kill all of us, I think?”

“That is weird.” Dan turned away from him and struggled to remember. What was it? He had had a dream, too, what was it-

He reached into his pocket for his phone, only to realize that it had been set on his nightstand. He pushed the home button and drank in the notification for the headline that graced his lockscreen.

 _Lesterworld Closed Due to Public Hazard_.

Why did that make him so happy, deep inside? He was _excited_ for Lesterville to open, why-

Matt continued absently, deep in thought. “It was okay, though. It was okay, because you decided you’d rather die than let me die, and I know that sounds ridiculous, because I _know_ you don’t feel that way about me even though I-” Matt froze mid-sentence. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry, mate, I’ll just-”

Dan turned slowly. Matt’s eyes were wide and ashamed. They didn’t meet Dan’s.

As if in slow motion, Dan leaped forward and launched himself into Matt’s arms.

“I don’t know about anything else you just said, but if you feel the same way about me as I do about you…” Dan trailed off. Matt’s green eyes glittered.

Matt was a little taller than him, and his hair flopped exaggeratedly over his forehead when he leaned forward. Dan noticed these details now.

“Do it,” Matt murmured, pulling Dan closer by the shoulders.

“Okay,” Dan whispered.

Their lips met.

Somewhere, a cold little spirit was screaming in pain.

And deep within Dan’s chest, something was stirring, reaching out for the heart that had forever longed for his own…

Dan grinned. Matt deepened the kiss.

And they were happy.

  
  
  
  
  
  


**Epilogue**

Dan was eighty-nine when he was visited again.

It was a blustery day in November. The park was littered with leaves, leaves that crunched softly under his feet. A chill passed softly through the air. He tightened his scarf around his neck.

The stones formed long rows; he passed by them and they seemed to blur together. He clutched the bouquet of chrysanthemums tightly in one gnarled, pale hand dappled with age spots. His other hand he shoved into a pocket, clenching and unclenching it in the cold.

“Mr. Howell?” A young woman in a black dress held a folder in one hand, standing with poise in front of him.

“Hm?” He grunted, looking up from the cobbled pavement. “What do you want?”

She smiled. It looked stretched and fake, all white teeth and red lipstick. “I’m his executor. I was told that you would be coming to see the grave today, and, since you missed the announcement of his will, I was to inform you of that.”

Dan groaned, waving his bouquet. “I’m just here to lay some flowers, alright? Just leave me alone.”

“Perhaps another time, then, sir?” the woman suggested politely. “I can call you in a week’s time.”

Dan waved a hand. “Yeah, yeah, do that.”

The woman left, black dress swaying, businesslike.

Pensively, Dan took the bouquet in hand and set it on the headstone. He traced a hand over the engraved words, shaking slightly.

_In loving memory of Matt Howell-Andersen. May 3, 1991-November 7, 2068._

 

 _*_ _*_ _*_

 

The house was cold and drafty, like he hadn’t been there in years. Dan shut the door brusquely, pulling off his thick woolen gloves with a grimace.

The floorboards creaked beneath his shoes. This house was old and rickety and had seen a lot— the better days of Dan and Matt’s marriage, the dogs whose muddy footprints still tracked down the hallway...

He hadn’t lived with another person in three years, and it showed.

Dan slept on the couch these days, too paralyzed with grief to even _consider_ sleeping in the bed that he and Matt had used to occupy together. The kitchen was full of unwashed dishes. Dust coated almost every surface.

Dan couldn’t care less.

There was a knock on the door.

He didn’t bother to get up, leaning his head and shouting. “Listen, whatever you’re selling, I’m not interested!” His voice was gruff and gravelly. “I’m not likely to convert to whatever religion you’re trying to promote here, either.”

Another knock.

Wearily, he stood, ambling towards it. “Listen, kid, I’m eighty-nine years old, and it’s the three year anniversary of my husband’s death, so I’d really appreciate it if you’d just-” He opened the door.

Oh.

That face, those eyes, that black hair, that crooked nose- none of it had aged a day since the last time they had seen each other.

Almost 70 years earlier.

 

“Mr. Howell,” Phil Lester greeted him, carefully, when Dan didn’t respond for over a minute.

Dan was dumbfounded, staring at the ground. He had wanted so, _so_ badly to forget all of it. Matt had said it was a bad dream, and maybe it was, but… this man was _dead._

“Why would you come here?” Dan spoke finally. “Why can’t you just leave me be?”

“Mr. Howell,” Lester repeated again. “ _Dan_. I’m very, immensely sorry about your husband, but-”

All those years of anger, of memories that couldn’t have been, came rushing back. When Dan looked up, his gaze was bright and angry like he was nineteen all over again.

“How can you ever claim to be sorry?” Dan retorted hotly. “It’s not like you give a damn. You _took_ him from me. Just like you took Mum. And Suki. They’re dead, and I wanted to forget all of it, forget it ever had anything to do with you, but it seems like you can’t even allow me that.”

“Dan.” Lester’s eyes were calm and reassuring, a light, icy blue.

Dan sighed. “What?”

“Do you mind if I come in? It’s very cold out here.”

 

* * *

 

He doesn’t know how he ended up making tea for a ghost, but here he was. Said ghost was now perched calmly on his couch.

Dan entered the sitting room with two steaming mugs of tea. He placed one on the table in front of the ghost, shaking slightly in disbelief.

“So are you going to explain yourself, or…” Dan trailed off, raising an eyebrow.

Lester gazed at the floor. Dan noticed two red patches in the apples of his cheeks. Perhaps over the years the ghost had gotten a little more alive. He knew he had, or well, before Matt had- he shook his head. He wasn’t going there today.

When Lester looked back at him, his eyes were remorseful. “Yes,” the ghost replied firmly, but quietly. “I believe I owe you that much.”

“Damn right you do,” Dan muttered, sitting on the couch and leaning back.

Lester took a sip of his tea. It brought a considerable level of warmth to his face, and Dan briefly wondered how that was possible.

“I don’t think I was entirely honest with you,” Lester began, voice full of trepidation.

“Go on, I’m listening,” Dan replied, sipping his tea.

“You think your husband is dead, correct?”

Dan flinched slightly. “Yes.”

“And you thought that Phil Lester- I- took him from you?”

“Yeah.”

“What if I told you that the events at the park were to protect both of you?”

Dan blinked. “What?” He took a sip of tea, pressing his eyelids in disbelief. “No, no. The park- that- all of that was a bad dream. They never made a Lesterville park. It was all a-”

“A big nightmare?” Lester supplied, smiling. “All of it was real, Dan. I just made Matt forget it, so that you didn’t have to go seventy years without knowing the reason why you experienced what you did.”

“You did a pretty botch-up job of that.”

“Indeed.” Lester took a deep breath. “Listen, Dan- what you know… while it was remarkably astute, considering you had little to no background information, was not the full truth. Remember when Suki dyed her hair black?”

Dan shook his head, confused. “I don’t see what this has to do with anything.”

Lester pressed on, insistent. “Remember when your mother suddenly had an immense interest in everything Phil Lester?”

“No,” Dan replied. “She always did.”

Lester grinned. “No, she didn’t. Just as soon as you were born.”

“Okay,” Dan nodded. “I still don’t understand.”

“What I’m trying to say is- okay. So do you know how ghosts work?”

“No, I don’t!” Dan replied incredulously.

“No, of course you don’t, why would you,” Lester muttered under his breath. “Anyway. People rarely become ghosts, usually they just pass on, but people become ghosts when they have something left for them in the mortal world. They can’t pass on until they get the thing they left behind into the afterlife with them.”

“So there was some kind of thing you left behind?” Dan comprehended, slowly.

Lester nodded. “Yes. Also, there are two sides to every spirit, okay? When spirits arrive in the mortal world, they are supposed to have a variable side and a control side. However, it’s _incredibly_ easy for those two sides to split apart.”

“So that’s what happened!” The explanation dawned on Dan suddenly. “You’re the control side. _That’s_ why you’re not currently trying to kill me.”

“Exactly,” Lester grinned.

Dan stopped short. “Wait, what was it you left behind?”

“The thing I left behind… was my soulmate, Dan,” Lester spoke with trepidation, slowly and cautiously.

“Okay,” Dan nodded. “Who was it? Or, who is it?”

“It was… It’s you, Dan.”

There were a few beats of silence. “Oh.”

“Yes.” Lester brushed a hand over the bridge of his nose, frustrated. “I’m sorry, Dan. I really am.”

Dan still had a few questions. “Why did you try to kill me?”

“Because my variable side needed some way to get you to the afterlife,” Lester sighed, sounding genuinely remorseful. “I was doing whatever I could to get you there, and he… he was trying some counterproductive things.”

“What did _you_ do?”

“That was my earlier point,” Lester explained, spreading his palms. “I inhabited a few people over the course of your life to protect you from my variable side, because I knew that you would never fall in love with me.”

“Oh. You _possessed_ them? Matt, and Suki, and Mum?” Dan’s voice was sharp.

“No, I didn’t,” Lester defended. “I… I left influences, is all.”

“Like the dyed hair, and the love for you,” Dan realized. “Oh, you egotist.”

“I couldn’t help it!” Lester laughed. He quickly sobered. “And the influences… they stuck, and sure enough you fell in love with them.”

“I did,” Dan nodded bitterly. “Was anything I fell for actually them?”

“Yes,” Lester confirmed. He squinted in thought. “Ninety-eight percent.”

Dan let out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding. “Okay, good.”

“Yes.”

There were a few beats of pregnant silence.

“So…” Dan continued, “Why are you here? Did you just come to tell me that, or…?”

“That, and…” Lester sighed. “I just wanted to let you know that the imprints I left in your friends, or your husband, as it were… when you die, you free me, too.”

Dan blinked. “What?”

“I’m connected to them, now,” Lester explained. “When you pass on, you come to the afterlife, and since I’m technically a part of your friends now…”

“You come with me.”

“Yep,” Lester replied, popping the ‘p’.

“Okay.”

“So, what’ll it be, Danny boy?”

Dan hesitated.

“What?”

Dan’s voice was quiet when he responded. “Do you think I’ll see Mum again?”

Lester didn’t answer.

“If I will, then I think… I think I’m ready.”

Lester’s gaze softened. “Okay.”

He held out a pale, translucent hand. Dan took it.

There was a light.  
And a darkness.

Two all-encompassing, piercingly bright green eyes.

And then warmth, warmth, warmth.

 

_fin_

**Author's Note:**

> and that's it! i hope you enjoyed it.  
> this was my last work for the phandom- i haven't watched dan and phil in months but i wanted to keep up with this. i hope it was a good one.


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